The Philanthropist Congressman recognized him instantly as the most eloquent orator in the labor movement in America. He had met him at a Reform Convention. He rose at once.
"Certainly."
"Fellow Citizens, Mr. George Evans, the leading advocate of Organized
Labor in America, wishes to speak to you. Will you hear him?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" came from all parts of the house.
The man began in quivering tones that held Sam and gripped the unwilling mind of the crowd:
"My friends: Just a few words. I have in my arms the still breathing skeleton of a little girl. I found her in a street behind this building within the sound of the voice of your speaker."
He paused and waved to John Brown.
"She was fighting with a stray cat for a crust of bread in a garbage pail. I hold her on high."
With both hands he lifted the dazed thing above his head.
"Look at her. This bundle of rags God made in the form of a woman to be the mother of the race. She has been thrown into your streets to starve. Her father is a workingman whom I know. For six months, out of work, he fought with death and hell, and hell won. He is now in prison. Her mother, unable to support herself and child, sought oblivion in drink. She's in the gutter to-night. Her brother has joined a gang on the East Side. Her sister is a girl of the streets.